Caribbean Kisses Mystery
by BBC Shipper
Summary: What might happen if Shelagh leaves Caribbean Kisses in her bag too long? A/N: This is my very first fanfic ever, so bear with me! I never thought I'd write anything like this, but it screamed at me to be written :-) I hope you like it! I have no one to read through it for me, so any feedback is most appreciated Disclaimer: I own none of these characters


Normally he would never go near her purse. He wouldn't dream of it. He knew enough to know that such a place was a sacred one to a woman. But Angela, in her mad dash through the living room, had bumped into the table and knocked the bag and all its contents on the floor. It had started innocently enough, simply trying to replace the items back into the bag, rather than leaving them all over the floor for the ever-curious toddler to find. Then he saw it. A book unlike he'd ever seen her read before – Caribbean Kisses. He was curious to see what kind of book this was, why she would read it.

He thumbed through, skimming the pages. This was definitely not his type of reading. The Lancet was much more his speed. And yet, after he snapped the book shut, something called to him to open it again, skimming over the pages. Why was this book in her bag? He could imagine finding it in Nurse Franklin's, but hers? Curious to read more, and not wanting to be caught looking in her purse, he quickly tucked it away and finished clearing up the floor as he heard her coming down the stairs.

"I thought you'd already left?" Shelagh questioned from halfway down the stairs. "Did you forget something?"

"On my way out now, I'll be back later!" he responded, shutting the door behind him and patting the book in his pocket, making sure it hadn't been poking out for her to see.

It was hours later when Shelagh noticed her book was missing from her bag. Surely no one had taken it? The Turner men knew that her purse was her private bag and never to go near – and Teddy was far too young to even crawl to the bag, much less stand up and rifle through it. Perhaps Angela had done it? She was always wanting to be more like Mum. Shelagh began to panic. Where could the book be? She turned the living room upside down, looking under cushions, pillows, even their copy of Squirrel Nutkin, though she couldn't imagine Angela ever going near that shelf…

The front door opened, ushering in a tired, but content Dr. Turner. The morning had gone well and he looked forward to perhaps a night in with his family, barring any medical emergencies. As he saw his beautiful, tiny wife, buried under cushions frantically searching for something, he couldn't help but grin at this woman he got to call his own. He loved the way she loved order, and seeing the room in such disarray amused him. He was not going to let an opportunity slip past him.

"Have you lost something, my dear?" he grinned at her panicked expression at having been caught. "Why don't you ask Timothy to help you look for it?"

The very thought seemed to cause a panic in Shelagh. She couldn't ask him to look for this! How would she explain it to him? How could she explain why it was still in her bag, when it obviously wasn't deposited at the Maternity Home on her way back from escorting Sister Monica Joan home. No, she definitely did not want Timothy's help on this. Nor Patrick's for that matter. "I'm fine on my own, thank you" she huffed out. _Where could it be? Surely he didn't…_ Shelagh looked up at her husband and saw the way his eyes were looking at her, practically drinking her in. She couldn't figure out why he would be in her bag, but what else could explain the look in his eyes? "You haven't seen…" her voice trailed off, realizing even as much as she loved this man, she couldn't express the words 'my romance novel filled with smut' to him.

He smiled that lopsided grin that always made her go weak at the knees. "I've seen all I need to, in my opinion," closing the gap between them in an instant, pulling her into a tight embrace, "at least enough to know I cannot look at you for one more second without showering you thoroughly with kisses." His lips trailed over her forehead and cheeks, skirting over her lips to taste the sweetness of her neck.

She groaned back at him, unsure whether the sound emitting from her was from her joy at the sudden sensation or the knowledge that this wording certainly meant he'd found the book. "Patrick, the room is a mess. We need to get it cleared up before Angela and Teddy get up from their naps and Timothy gets back from the library. I don't want them thinking this kind of living condition is acceptable in this new house."

He didn't seem to hear a word she spoke. He was too consumed with love with her. No matter how long they were married, he never wanted to stop their passion. He never wanted to stop giving her all manner of kisses. "But I'm not done with you yet" he teased, switching to the other side of her neck and feeling her melt in his arms all over again. "Besides, I can think of other things better suited to our child-free time than cleaning" he whispered into her ear, sending shivers up her spine. "Perhaps we can pretend we're on holiday… Maybe in a warmer climate than London?"

Shelagh gasped slightly, but was too overpowered by her own desire for this man to berate him for going through her things just yet. That could wait a little longer, as could the straightening of the living room. Having learned their lesson already about being intimate in the public areas of the house when Timothy was due home any minute, Patrick grabbed her hand and led her up to the bedroom. "There is just enough time for a holiday, I think," she said with a wink, "perhaps to the Caribbean?"

"Sounds delightful" he mumbled out, not caring where they headed – so long as it ended in their bed.

With an contented sigh, Shelagh rolled to her side and placed her head on her husband's chest. His breathing was finally slowing to a normal pace after their vigorous holiday and she had finally gathered enough of her breath to speak normally, "So why were you in my purse, Dr. Turner?"

Genuinely shocked, and if he were honest with himself, hurt by her accusation, Patrick sat suddenly upright in their bed. "Why would you ever accuse me of that?" he proclaimed a little too loudly. "You have made it quite clear that I was never to go near your bag, and I have never had a reason to want to!"

"Then where is my…" Shelagh started to retort, but cut herself off as she realized her husband truly had no idea what she was talking about. And she didn't want to tell him about Sister Monica Joan's souvenir if she didn't have to – there would be far too many questions and she knew he would insist she read it to him and… she let her mind wander to what Patrick's response to the book might be, unaware she had stopped mid-sentence as she pictured it in her mind's eye.

Patrick shook her out of her daydream. "Shelagh, honey, where's your _what_?"

"Oh, nothing dear. I'll find it" she mused. _I'll definitely find it_ , she thought to herself, _if that's his response to me just looking for that book_. "We'd better get the living room cleaned up before Timothy gets home."

It was another hour later, as Timothy slipped into the house. He was a little later than he'd planned, but he hadn't planned reading that entire book. Timothy spied his parents in the kitchen supposedly preparing tea, though they were doing more kissing than anything else, and he slipped the book back into his mother's purse before they turned to face him. "Do you _**have**_ to do that in the kitchen?" he complained, "you know my feelings on your mushy stuff." His face turned a deep shade of red as his parents looked up at him and laughed. Yes, he was definitely still opposed to catching his parents doing any form of mushy stuff. But perhaps he was not as opposed to mushy stuff in general as he had thought…


End file.
